I understand...
by Sayuri1
Summary: ﻿Omi is coping with his feeling for his chain-smoking teammate while ﻿memories of his past catch up with him. [shonen-ai] [complete]
1.

Author: Sayuri (sayuri_tama@hotmail.com)

Title: "I understand..."

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Omi + Yohji

Spoilers: Omi's family and past; Yohji's past 

Warnings: Angst, Shonen ai, Het, Strong Language, Violence, Implied NCS, Omi-whining

Disclaimer: WeiB Kreuz is not mine, of course. It belongs to the awesome Koyasu Takehito, Kyoko Tsuchiya, and Project WeiB.

Author's notes: This is my first fanfic of any variety. Please chock any blatant blunders and OOC-ness up to inexperience--and please, please comment

___________________  
  
  


Have you ever been hunted by a dream? A nightmare that swallows you whole and won't let go? A dream so horrifyingly real that you can't escape from your own fear? A dream about rough hands, loud voices, pain...

*** 

Omi lay awake staring at the cracks in the white ceiling, tracing the irregular lines with his eyes and trying desperately to shut out the images, the sounds. 

This was the fourth night this week that he had been caught by his nightmare. It had been months since the memories of his kidnapping had begun to surface, since he had faced the harsh truth about his family and reluctantly accepted the necessity of leaving the past behind. For the most part, it had worked.

Omi cursed softly to himself as he sat up and gazed out the window at the moon. It made him feel sick to be so paralysed by something against which he could not fight; to be hunted by an invisible enemy inside his own mind. To be helpless, weak. He hated feeling weak.

Flopping back down on the sweat-soaked mattress, he squeezed his eyes tight and curled up into the fetal position, hoping for some reprieve from the nightly onslaught.

None came.

***

/I'm all alone, it's dark/

Pain exploding on the side of his face as the hard boot makes contact with soft skin. A strange voice. "You're Dad said he won't pay..."

/Lair!/

A second strange voice, with a harder edge than the first. "I think we ought to get something for our hard work..." Laughter. 

Hot, smelly breath in his ear, a heavy body holding his from behind; a second pair of hands ripping at his clothing. "Stupid kid..."

/Help, Papa...save me! Hurry!/

Desperate kicking. 

"You might as well not fight."

/not fight?/

"Whore..." Crushing pain. Hot tears.

/don't fight /

/never forgive./


	2. 

"Ohayo!" Omi bounced into the lounge, wearing his usual shorts and t-shirt, hair bushy and smile stretching across his face. He flopped down onto the sofa across from one of his fellow Weiss members, noting with shock that the body draped in the chair was neither Ken nor Aya, but Yohji, who wasn't usually seen before late afternoon--especially on a Sunday. 

"How are you this morning, Yohji-kun? What are you doing up? Sleep well?"

"Hn." Came the tired reply from behind a pair of sunglasses. "It's too early to be so cheerful, Omi. I'm just..." A large yawn interrupted the blonde's reply. "I'm just waiting for Michiru to get out of the shower so I can drive her home." Yohji grinned mischievously at his younger teammate and took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling in spurts sending up rings of smoke. "So I guess you _could_ say that I didn't get much sleeping done last night!" He laughed at Omi's innocent blush and timid grin. Whatever Omi was, thought Yohji, he wasn't experienced.

"That's, uh, good, Yohji-kun. Umm... tell her I said, uh, hi." 

At Yohji's laughter, Omi quickly got up and moved into the kitchen to make himself a large cup of coffee. Normally he despised adding stimulants of any kind to his body, but he was so drawn out from lack of rest that he needed something to help him keep up the perky-kid routine with his teammates. As he was buttering some toast and well into his third glass of heavily sugared Columbian, Omi heard the high-pitched giggles of Yohji's latest conquest which were quickly silenced by the lips of the older assassin. Scowling, Omi picked up a stray manga from the counter top and tried to concentrate on something other than the fact that the object of his affection was pawing at an attractive female on the other side of a thin wall. 

Omi's breath caught in his throat when Yohji suddenly stuck his head in the kitchen."Omi-kun, I'm off. Aya and Ken should be back soon with stuff for the mission. Do the dishes, hmm? Please? You're _so_ good at it--last time that klutz Ken broke my cereal bowl!" Yohji playfully feigned despair. "I'll do them tomorrow, really..."

"No problem, Yohji-kun. Take your girlfriend home" Omi replied, forcing out a grin.

"Oh, she's not my girlfriend!" Yohji winked conspiratorially, blond hair flowing loose and falling against silky cheeks. "Later!" The door closed and Omi could dimly hear Yohji's laughter mingling with the higher voice of the dark-haired girl. 

Alone, Omi placed his head in his hands and exhaled sharply. He did _not_ need this now. Not now, when he was already feeling drained emotionally and physically by his nightmares. The _last_ thing he needed was to swept up in a confused and intense attraction to someone who would _never_ feel the same. 

Omi knew it was stupid. He told himself a million times a day that no logical person would give their heart to one who was destined to refuse it. It's just that his feelings about Yohji had nothing to do with logic. Every time he saw him his throat felt tighter and his knees weakened. His stomach felt on the verge of sickness at the very thought of that golden hair, those piercing green eyes. The curve of his cheeks, the shape of his nose, the sound of his laugh all made Omi's heart race. 

Of course, it wasn't just the fact that Yohji was the epitome of all that is beauty that drew Omi to his older teammate. Their was something deeper that touched Omi when he contemplated his friend. The way Yohji talked to Omi, as if he were an equal and not a child. They way he cared when Omi was hurt; the way he teased him for his shyness; how no matter how many times Yohji insisted he was both bored and irritated by Omi's geekier hobbies, he always_ listened_, exhibiting a patience normally lacking in his loud character. How Yohji seemed to somehow understand that behind the mask of youthful innocence was a darkness in Omi that didn't frighten Yohji away. 

While Omi otherwise lived in a depressed fog caught between one nightmare and the next, Yohji represented a sense of sharpness, a clarity which made talking and laughing come naturally as if they _weren't_ an effort or an act. 

With Yohji, the smiles became genuine; the masks could come off. 

Omi desperately wanted Yohji to feel the same sense of calm and comfort with him. Although Yohji did his best to hide his suffering behind wit and charm, Omi knew that Yohji, too, wore many masks. Omi wanted to peel those masks off and hold the real Yohji close, pain-blistered and broken. He wanted, with Yohji, to find a home for both their pain and their happiness, healing the past by being together. 

In short, everything he had ever looked for in another soul was embodied in the tall, smoking, wisecracking, woman-chaser. The only problem was the certainty that to Yohji, Omi was a young, slightly awkward, gangly boy - good for friendship and a few laughs; a fellow assassin, a roommate, perhaps a friend - but certainly not a candidate for Yohji's heart. 

Omi swallowed hard and gulped down the last of the coffee, reminding himself that to many people, bodies _mattered_. Even _if_ Yohji and he connected on certain levels - which in itself might be a one-way street- there was _no way_ that Yohji would alter his preference for slender dark-haired women to look upon Omi with lust. __

_Lust_, he reminded himself sharply, _is an essential ingredient of love-isn't it?_ __

_Of course it is._

Cursing himself softly, Omi glanced around at the messy kitchen and began to clean up. 

***

Exhausted after another mission, Omi collapsed onto his bed fully clothed, his shoulder aching and head pounding. He could hear the pattern of Aya's footsteps walking down the hall to the bathroom, Ken dropping things in the kitchen. Yohji's voice as he left the apartment, complaining that no one would come clubbing with him. 

Breathing heavily, Omi wondered: did any of them realize how tired he was? Did they have any idea how much energy it took to smile, to laugh? To act as if everything was okay on the outside when he as screaming on the inside? And to make it look as if he _weren't_ acting so none of them would guess?

Omi sighed. He was whining, and he knew it.

_But this is the only way I can handle it. We all try to forget in different ways. Aya puts up fences. Ken devotes himself to others. Yohji throws himself to women and vice. Me? I grin like an idiot. I grin on the outside and whine on the inside. I'm pathetic. _

_Please let me sleep. Just one night of sleep. Let me forget for just one night..._

***

Darkness. Blinding pain. 

_I didn't fight, why didn't I fight, I was weak ... I'll never forgive them, I'll never forgive myself, I'll never forgive_...

***

Omi choked back sobs as he lay back against the bathtub, curled on the floor. The bathroom was dark, save the streak of moonlight which lay on the patch of white tile floor. Images of his nightmare ran through his brain, flooding him with a constant feeling of helplessness, meshing with the pangs of loneliness he felt at knowing that Yohji was once again most likely enjoying the company of some woman. 

He couldn't decide which was worse: to be chased by ghosts of the past or to be constantly faced with unrequited raw emotion. 

"Gods... I can't take this... I can't take this...Father...Yohji..." _Yohji_. The tears spilled over as he shook, searching for some release from the pain. Without really thinking, he slowly sat up, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and, sniffling, removed his jacket and withdrew a knife from the pocket. _One perk to being an assassin_, thought Omi dryly. _There's always something sharp on hand_. Opening the blade slowly, he felt a sense of calm overtaking his body and his mind began to clear. 

Lightly, not hard enough to break the skin, Omi ran the edge of the blade over his left wrist, tracing a pattern up the length of his thin arm. The smooth skin registered the sensation of the cool blade not with alarm, but with a strange sense of welcome. When he reached above the elbow, Omi slowly drew the blade across, hard enough to make _real_ the pain inside. A thin line of red ran across his forearm, then another, and another. And another. He exhaled quickly as he lowered his hand, letting the blade slip to the floor, watching the blood flow.

_He_ would be the one making the scars now. Not those perverts who fucked him when he was a kid, not his goddam father who didn't care. Not Yohji, who didn't notice the pain, the longing, the _need_ behind Omi's seemingly cheerful eyes. 

Resting against the edge of the bathtub, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. The chase began again.

***

_I am so fucking tired..._Yohji thought to himself, padding across the lounge barefoot. Streaks of faint sunlight cut across the floor through the partially open blinds, creating a pattern on the carpet in the semi-dark room. How many times had he crept in at dawn after a night of trying to escape? Trying to escape killing, loneliness, Asuka... Yohji sighed heavily, throwing his jacket on the sofa._ Just a quick shower and then to bed_. He opened the bathroom door, flicked on the lights and blinked hard a couple of times before his brain registered what his eyes were seeing. Yohji swallowed hard.

Laying curled up on the floor was Omi, twitching and moaning softly, as if in pain. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes held shut tightly, his hand resting next to an open knife. Splotches of red marred the white tile floor.

"Omi! Omi-kun!" Yohji shouted, dropping to his knees beside the boy, shaking him to consciousness. He noted with relief that the blade had not been used on the boys' tiny wrists, but bit his lip as he saw the streaks of dried blood on Omi's upper arm. 

"Goddamn it, Omi -- fuck!" Yohji's throat tightened as he slowed his shaking, cradling the boy in his arms. The gentle eyes fluttered open and for a moment Omi tensed at the realization that he was being held by unfamiliar hands, touched when he felt most vulnerable. Yohji felt the boy's fright and gently stroked his head while rocking slightly. "Shhh...it's okay, Omittchi. I'm here."

"Yohji." The boy murmured, closing his eyes and turning his face into the warm chest, breathing deeply of sweat and cologne and sweetness, relaxing into the strong arms which held him as if he were a fragile doll. 

Yohji heard the sound of a door opening, footsteps approaching the bathroom. 

"Yohji? What's the matter?" asked Aya, in an sharp voice which halted suddenly at the sight of Yohji laying on the floor with the younger boy gathered in his arms, the blade lying on the floor. 

"Nani?" came a sleepy-sounding voice from behind Aya.

"Aya, Ken, let me handle this..." Yohji replied in a shaky voice, awkwardly rising to carry Omi out of the bathroom. "Go back to sleep. I'll take care of him." Yohji carried the sleeping boy down the hall past a visibly angry Aya and a yawning Ken, taking care not to further disturb him. Yohji didn't stop to consider where he was taking Omi, only knowing that whatever the boy was going through, he couldn't be left alone. 

Yohji entered his room and gently laid Omi down on the bed. He stood over Omi and watched as the younger boy relaxed into the soft blanket, and cast a downward glance at the blood-stained arm. Shaking his head, Yohji went back to the bathroom, where he picked up the knife and tossed it roughly into the trash bin. With some alcohol and gauze, Yohji returned to his room where he set about cleaning Omi's cuts. In their line of work, patching up wounds was practically second nature. But this was - different. These wounds hadn't been given by an enemy which could be defeated, but by Omi's own hand. The only question was, why? _What is still torturing him that he can't share? _

"I'm one to talk" Yohji snorted. Images of Asuka flooded Yohji's mind as he looked on Omi's innocent face. Pangs of guilt tore through him as he remembered holding Asuka and pledging to always protect her, keep her safe. His ultimate failure was a stain which would forever be upon him, causing him pain from which he could only seek release by slowly destroying himself. 

Yohji finished with Omi's arm and removed the boy's sneakers to make him more comfortable. Walking to the other side of the bed, Yohji eased down and lay next to the boy, hoping that he would be able to sense the presence of someone familiar. Hoping that in this small way, he could protect Omi. 

***

_Where am I? In Yohji's bed? _Omi vaguely remembered feeling desperation, the bathroom, the knife, the gentle hands and a soft voice -_ "I'll take care of him."_ _Yohji. _Omi breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of Yohji which surrounded him in the blankets. It was sweet and spicy and warm and comfortable, like herbs and cinnamon and the faint smell of cigarettes. Sunshine leaked through the cracks in the blinds, dimly lighting the room. Omi knew that it was past noon, that he should be in school, that the others would be working in the shop. He slowly shifted his weight and froze with surprise as he pressed up against the man who was still in bed with him, one slender arm protectively circled around Omi's head. 

Relaxing, a smile formed on Omi's lips as he turned to face Yohji. Omi rested his head on Yohji's shoulder and placed a timid hand on his chest. Closing his eyes, Omi slept a dreamless sleep. 


	3. 

  
  


"It's about time you got down here."

Yohji yawned in reply, tying on his apron and glancing around the flower shop. Ken was busy helping a gaggle of giggling schoolgirls; Aya was sullenly watering the potted ferns.

"Aya, Is that any way to say good morning?" Ken chided. "I mean, he at least decided to grace us with his presence-although not in time for the after-school rush!" 

Aya continued to water as Yohji headed for the coffee pot. After Ken waved off the last of the customers, Aya dropped the can and headed toward his teammate, Ken fast on his heels. "Yohji, what is going on with Omi?" Aya queried, his voice somewhat softer than its usual icy tone.

Yohji sighed as he poured himself a cup. He knew this was coming.

"We didn't want to disturb him this morning, but we were worried...there was blood in the bathroom, and a knife in the trash bin." Ken bit his lower lip as he waited anxiously for Yohji's reply. "Is he...hurt?"

"He's okay. A few scars, probably, but he didn't lose a lot of blood. If he had meant business, he would have aimed lower." Yohji shuddered at the thought. "He was sleeping when I found him, and he was only awake for a few minutes until I put him to bed. I didn't see fit to badger him. " Yohji lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and making a point of exhaling in Aya's direction. 

"You left him alone upstairs." Aya stated, in a sharp, accusatory tone. 

"Aya, I told you, he wasn't trying to kill himself. He was just letting out some pain, I think." Yohji continued to smoke and turned to refill his mug with black coffee, wishing it was sake.

"Not _this_ time. I don't think we should leave him alone. Something's not right." Aya winced inwardly as he pictured Omi lying on a hospital bed like Aya-chan, tubes hooked up to his tiny body to keep him alive. Or what would happen if next time they didn't find the boy in time. He couldn't be responsible for losing the life of someone else he cared about. He might not be the oldest of their group, but he knew that he was the strongest, and it was therefore his duty to keep Omi safe. 

"What about..." Ken was cut off by a small, bright voice entering the shop from upstairs. 

"Ohayo-or is it too late for that?" Omi laughed nervously, keenly aware of the three pairs of eyes directed at his left arm which was uncharacteristically concealed by a long-sleeved shirt. 

Yohji noted the younger boy's discomfort, apparent in the downward gaze and reddening cheeks. "Aya, Ken, if you'd like to go and leave Omi and I to close up, that'd be fine with us. We owe you that much for sleeping the rush hour away, ne, Omi?"

"H-hai!"

The other two boys cast glances from Yohji to Omi, and nodded. As they left the shop, Omi looked and Yohji with unmistakable gratitude. 

***

When the last flowers had been arranged and the shop locked, Yohji decided that it was time to cut the silence. _Omi might not be ready, but I have to know what's bugging him, or next time..._Yohji unfastened his apron, shook out his hair, and headed toward Omi.

Out of the corner of his eye, Omi saw Yohji remove his apron. Omi's breath caught in his throat and his grip on the broom tightened as he watched his teammate's arms gracefully flip through golden, wavy hair; as a delicate yet strong hand absentmindedly wiped sweat off the smooth forehead. Omi closed his eyes and tried to turn off the images his brain was dragging up of Yohji removing more than just his apron.

_Stop, stop! _came a commanding voice inside his mind_. This isn't right. This isn't why I love Yohji! I love him more than that!_

_Ah_! came the insistent reply. _But you still _want_ him! You dream of running your "innocent" hands through his hair, kissing his cheeks, pressing your body against his, scraping your teeth over his delicate throat... You want to use Yohji, use his body - you're no better than those who used yours..._

_STOP!_

Omi's blue eyes snapped open. He hated the feelings which ran through his body whenever he thought about Yohji. His feelings for Yohji were about love, not just sex. For him, physical contact was rough and painful, a source of fear forever etched in his mind and replayed every night. It was as if associating sex with Yohji somehow cheapened and tainted his feelings. 

Yet, when he thought of Yohji, he couldn't help himself fantasising about that beautiful body. The result was that he felt dirty, helpless, and weak; bound not only by the past but by his own shameful attraction. 

_Why can't I just love him in pureness? Why does he have to be so beautiful?_ _Why am I such a hentai?_

_Well, would you love him if he _weren't_ beautiful?_ _If he had six toes or crooked legs or a pot belly?_

_Of _course_ I would._..

Omi's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Yohji clearing his throat. Omi swallowed hard and tried to steady his breathing as he noticed Yohji heading in his direction. 

"Omi-kun." Yohji's voice was firm as he leaned against the wall close to where Omi was standing, clutching the broom and looking like a deer caught in headlights. "Omi, I don't know what's going on with you, but you know that if anything bothering you..." Yohji paused. _Shit. This isn't going right. _"Look, Omi. We both know life's a bitch. I don't have to tell you that. But dealing with it on your own isn't always the best way of going about it. Neither is cutting the shit out of your arm." Yohji softened his voice. "Omi, making yourself hurt outside isn't going to fix what's broken inside. Talking helps, through -- you know you can talk to me anytime."

Omi nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip. _Except when you're out picking up and screwing girls, or passed out drunk in between. _

Yohji sensed the boy's internal reaction, and forgot his determination not to push Omi. "Look, I know I'm not bloody perfect. I never said I knew how to deal with things, only that I can't watch you do this to yourself. Maybe the others can't see through that innocent happy-go-lucky mask you've got on, but I damn well can! Now talk to me, dammit! What the hell is wrong? Open up, Omi!" Yohji was practically shouting, his hands shaking Omi's tiny shoulders. 

Omi's eyes stood wide._ Does he really want to know? _Omi opened his mouth, his voice catching in his throat. _NO! I can't tell him, I can't tell him that I love him, I can't tell him that I'm ruined, dirty, unworthy of him._

Yohji glanced down at this hands and instantly released his grip, stepping back. _Fuck._ His confidence wavered as Omi continued to meet his gaze. _Who am I to tell this kid anything? How many women have I fucked and forgotten? How many times have I woken up in my own vomit? Or been so stoned I couldn't remember my own name? How many sins have I committed?_

_Only-only, I don't want to see him become me. I don't want him to totally lose that smile, that sense of self-worth. And if it's already gone, I have to help him find it again..._

Yohji's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Omi, who was hesitantly closing the space between them, the broom now laying forgotten on the floor. 

"Open up to you? You want to know me, the real me? Really know me?" Omi's voice trembled as he came to a stop inches from Yohji, never breaking eye contact. 

"Yes..." Yohji reached out and drew the boy into an embrace, hoping that a shoulder, no matter how stained, would help Omi. Would let him know that he wasn't alone. 

Omi shuddered as Yohji's arms closed around his shoulders, the warmth of the older man surrounding him with comfort. He breathed deeply, raised his head, stood up on his tiptoes, and did what felt most natural. 

Yohji's mind registered with shock the soft lips pressed firmly to his own, the slight moan from the younger boy, the shaking hands clinging desperately to his shoulders. Momentarily his body responded to the sensations--until his brain took over. 

"Omi..." he breathed, slowly breaking off the kiss and gently distancing himself from the boy. "Omi-kun, I... I..." For once in his life, Kudou Yohji was at a loss for words. His mind was reeling, senses raging, and everything in him was saying the same thing _...this isn't right_. "Omi," he began again, "I don't...I mean, I'm not..." Yohji awkwardly groped for the right words. "You're upset, you don't know what you're doing. You're confused."

Omi hung his head and choked back sobs_. I blew it. I totally and completely blew it. _Turning quickly, he ran up the steps to the apartment, crashing into Aya on the way.

Downstairs, Yohji smashed his fist into the wall. "Fuck!"

***

Omi registered the soft knock, the sound of the door being pushed open and closed. Footsteps approaching the bed where he lay with his face pressed into the pillow. The weight of someone sitting on the bed next to him. The smell of cigarettes and spices. Yohji. 

"Omi."

Omi turned over to face the older boy who looked down on him. After what happened downstairs, he couldn't hide anymore. 

"Yohji, I love you."

Shock.

"Did you hear me? I said I love you!"

Utter and complete shock.

"Omi..." Yohji's composure was quickly slipping away, his voice trembling slightly. "Omi, you _can't _love me. You don't know what you're saying! You're a scared and screwed up kid, and you're just latching on to me because I'm your friend...you don't know what you really want."

"Yohji, don't you get it? I _want_ to love you. I_ need_ to love you. I need to heal that scared and screwed up kid inside of me by giving him someone else to love, to take care of, and to be needed by. To convince that kid that he's not alone, not unwanted...not useless...and I could do the same for you...you don't know how special you are, how much you mean to me...you're not worthless, Yohji, no matter what you think..." Omi turned his head as his voice gave out. 

As Yohji watched Omi's tears spilled over and roll down those pale cheeks, he felt a piece of his heart break.

The young voice came again, in a low, desperate, whisper. "Yohji, I know I'm not beautiful, I know I'm not a woman... I know I have nothing to give you but my heart...but it's yours...if you want it...please? We get along so well together...I...I..." A tear-streaked face looked up and met Yohji's gaze. 

"Omi, I'm_ straight_." The voice was firm, and final.

"And if you weren't..."

"If I weren't?! How the hell can I answer that! I can't even _conceive_ of it!" His voice softened. "Omi-kun, I'm sorry." _I'm sorry._

_Sorry? He's _sorry_? He just killed me, and he's _sorry_..._

"Leave."

***

As the cuts healed into scars, the fog which had surrounded Omi's nights began to envelop his days. While his smile remained unshakable, Ken and even Aya could sense that behind the bright blue eyes something had been shut off. 

Yohji tried to talk to Omi. The subsequent rebuffs by the boy established a pattern of behaviour between the two which allowed for common courtesy out of necessity, but nothing more. 

And Yohji's nightmare of Asuka came to include a second horrifying and vivid image of a blond- haired, blue-eyed boy laying lifeless on the bathroom floor, surrounded by his own blood.

_I can't let that happen. I have to make him understand why I can't love him, why whatever is in his past shouldn't destroy him. That none of this is his fault. Why I'm not worth suffering over_. 

***

Walking down the steps of school, Omi noted with surprise the lanky figure lin white leaning against the chain-link fence. _What is _he_ doing here? Waiting for me?_

Omi descended the stairs and came to a stop in front of Yohji.

"Hey, Omittchi! How was school?" Yohji tried to keep his tone light, but he knew that nothing could break the tension in the air. Omi refused to meet his gaze, instead casing a glance toward his parked bike.

Sensing Omi's urge to leave, Yohji reached out and grasped Omi's arm. "Omi, look at me for Chrissake! You can't ignore me forever!"

_Why is he touching me? Doesn't he know that this is torture? _ "Just leave me alone, Yohji!" Omi shook off the arm which held his, and started toward his bike.

"Omi, can't you understand? I want to see you happy, I want to help you. But I _can't _change who I am, any more than you can. I can't love you the way you want me to!"

***

_Why is Yohji being difficult? Doesn't he know that it's shallow to focus on a stupid body? So I'm not a woman! I mean, I _love_ him, a lot more than any of those stupid bimbos he dates ever could -- _I'm _his friend, _I_ understand him! _

_Do you? _

Yohji's voice echoed in Omi's mind as he lay in bed. _ "I can't change who I am."_ Yohji wanting to help Omi. Yohji pleading with him to understand.

_Do you _really _understand? Or do you just want to change Yohji so that you won't be alone? Are you thinking of him, or of yourself? _

It hit Omi like a ton of bricks. 

"I...I understand." Omi whispered into the darkness. _I _do_ understand_. He could no more consider being with one of those pesky girls who were always following him around the halls at school and giggling than Yohji could consider being with _him_. But Yohji still wanted to be his friend, his teammate, his support. He hadn't turned away disgusted at Omi's revelation. He just _couldn't_ give Omi what he wanted and needed so badly.__

_And if I love him, I should understand that. Because loving someone, _really_ loving someone, isn't about being selfish and hurting them. It's about caring enough for someone else to forget your own pain. It's wanting, with your whole being, to see their wounds healed. It's seeking their happiness, even if it means forever shutting out your own_.

He owed it to Yohji to accept what he could give, and let go of the rest, no matter how much it would hurt. Omi closed his eyes and did something he had never done before - he prayed. 

"God..." his young voice began shakily, "God...I know that I am not deserving...but please, hear me. I can bear the pain of being alone...but I _can't_ watch Yohji be miserable. Please...make him happy. Send him someone to love who is worthy of him, who knows how special he is...who loves him as much as I do..." 

Omi's voice broke as tears coursed down his cheeks. 

"Someone he_ can_ love back...seeing him happy would be enough for me."

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Omi lay back on the mattress.

He slept. 

And, mercifully, for one night his ghosts gave up the chase. 

  
  


~~Owari


End file.
